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“You said it would help you, right?” she says. “With your job?”
I wish I wouldn’t have confirmed that. From what I remember, Emmy has a habit of taking one thing out of a whole conversation and focusing on it.
Not that I say a lot or have a lot of conversations. But back when we were friends, she’d pull little snippets from our pond chats as proof that I was a good guy and wield those snippets like a warrior in battle.
Truth be told, I liked that she saw a different side of me. She made me think I could do anything.
I think about what brought me here. The way I messed up in Macon. Yeah. It would help to have some positive attention for once, no matter how much I would hate it. Still, I don’t want her to feel obligated.
“Don’t do this for me,” I tell her. “I mean it. I’ll survive.”
She twists a silver band around on her finger, a nervous habit that dates back years.
“My store could always use good publicity too,” she says. Then, with a look that makes me think this trauma hasn’t stolen all of her personality, she says, “And you did sort of save my life.”
“Yeah, well, Lindsay’s a bulldozer,” I say.
Emmy stifles a small laugh. “You’re not wrong.”
“She wants to do it today.” I shake my head, partly in disgust, hating that I even have to ask.
Emmy nods. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s fine.” She pauses. “You can tell her it’s fine. Just let me know when and where.” She pulls her keys out of her purse. “I’ll drive myself back to work.”
I nod, but as she walks away, I realize I don’t have her number. “Emmy?”
She turns around but doesn’t meet my eyes. Did I imagine it, or did things between us just get even more tense?
“I need your number.” I hold my phone out to her, and she hesitates for a beat, then moves toward me, types her number into my phone, and hands it back to me.
“Thanks for coming,” she says, her tone clipped.
I resist the urge to ask her if she’s okay and give her a simple nod instead. “I’ll keep you posted when I hear back.”
She starts toward the car. “Sounds good.”
She gets in, starts the engine, backs out and drives away, leaving me wondering what I did wrong.
I text Lindsay back:
Owen
Let’s do it at Book Smart. Name the time.
Lindsay
Can we do it at the house?
Owen
No.
Lindsay
It’ll be better TV.
